


in the end you emerge

by thecrackshiplollipop



Series: unending love [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Doctor Mechanic is the main OTP I swear, F/F, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6149632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrackshiplollipop/pseuds/thecrackshiplollipop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Children wake up on the morning of their 14th birthday with the name of someone else on the inside of their wrist. It's called a soulmark, because the name belongs to the person the universe has conspired to bring you to, against all odds and in every iteration of your life. It’s been happening since the days of Old Earth, before the Ark ever formed, and as far as anybody ever knew, it was going to continue to happen as long as humanity thrives.</p><p>Abigail Griffin goes to bed the night before her 14th birthday with bare wrists and butterflies in her stomach. When she wakes up, her wrists are still unmarked, and the butterflies are replaced with an aching emptiness she can’t even begin to understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the end you emerge

**Author's Note:**

> mochof and much love to hanny bonnany for the love and support whilst i poured my feels out to them.

Children wake up on the morning of their 14th birthday with the name of someone else on the inside of their wrist. It's called a soulmark, because the name belongs to the person the universe has conspired to bring you to, against all odds and in every iteration of your life. It’s been happening since the days of Old Earth, before the Ark ever formed, and as far as anybody ever knew, it was going to continue to happen as long as humanity thrives.

Abigail Griffin goes to bed the night before her 14th birthday with bare wrists and butterflies in her stomach. When she wakes up, her wrists are still unmarked, and the butterflies are replaced with an aching emptiness she can’t even begin to understand.

“Today can’t be my _real_ birthday,” Abby insists, holding out her wrists for her mother to inspect.

“But it is, Abigail,” her father says from the kitchen table. Her parents share a look she doesn’t understand, her mother’s thumbs worrying over the skin on the insides of Abby’s wrists.

“Then why don’t I have a name on my wrist?”

“We’ll speak with the Chancellor,” her mother says a moment later, her voice warm, her smile reassuring. “She’ll know.”

Chancellor Robins doesn’t, in fact. She says, so seriously, that _the universe doesn’t make mistakes_ , and that Abby’s blank wrists must have a purpose. Even though she doesn’t buy it, her parents do, and Abby is forced to go to school the next day, naked wrists hidden in long sleeves. During the lunch break she raises her hands to wave Callie over to the empty seat opposite her and her sleeves slip down her skinny arms, flashing her unmarked skin to everyone around her.

She’s teased for all of one day before Jake Fowler, big and kind and smart, takes her hand in the school hallway and leads her to Earth Skills.

Jake is 16, he’s good at math, and he knows his soulmate’s name is Rebecca. He’s in no rush to figure out which Rebecca she is, and kisses Abby’s unmarked wrists before he asks her to the Sweetness Day Dance.

Jake finds Rebecca when he’s 18. He’s an apprentice with the engineer corps and gets assigned to Farm Station where Rebecca works in hydroponics. Somewhere in the back of her mind Abby always knew the day would come. Jake was always destined for something, _someone_ ; Abby…wasn’t so sure about herself. They never see each other these days, now that he’s an apprentice and she has her final exams to take and her own apprenticeship in Medical to worry about. She has bigger things on her mind than Jake Fowler and his soulmate.

(Her heart is not broken when she finally meets Rebecca, _the_ Rebecca, but she rubs her naked wrists self consciously as she watches them walk away, holding hands, wrists pressed together.)

When her apprenticeship starts, she’s dating Callie, whose soulmate’s name is Kara, but neither of them pay attention to the mark on the inside of her wrist. Callie never covers the mark, instead she wears it proudly, shows the whole damn universe that it doesn’t make choices for her, shows everyone she chooses Abby over the name on her wrist. Abby would be embarrassed, if she wasn’t so overwhelmed with love for this girl.

Callie is on track to become a teacher and she walks Abby to the clinic every morning, their fingers twined together, Callie’s unmarked wrist pressed to Abby’s unmarked wrist. It’s almost like the courtship from the stories parents tell, except there’s no great cosmic certainty that being with Callie is any more right than being with Jake.

But at least it feels _good_ when they kiss each other before work, when they sneak away to fuck in a storage hangar during their breaks, when they laugh with their friends over dinner while Callie’s foot presses gently against Abby’s ankle. The hope of a future blossoms to life with Callie, and Abby is foolish enough to believe Callie when she says, “I love you.” Callie’s quarters are close enough to Medical that Abby never bothers to go home and falls asleep pressed into Callie’s narrow bed, skin-to-skin with this girl who makes her feel like the universe could be wrong.

* * *

Kara, _Callie’s_ Kara, is four years older than them, and works and lives on Mecha station. Callie meets her during lunch one day, and it takes her an entire  week to break the news to Abby.

Abby lets her go, as easy as that. Turns out you can’t fight fate and the universe is always right, after all. They kiss, one last time, and Abby knows they will always be friends, but wonders if that’s all she’s ever destined to be: _a friend_.

She assumes Jake and Rebecca will be married soon. Soulmates tend to move fast once they find each other. She assumes she’ll be assisting in the delivery of their child, too. Assumes a lot of things about her life, really, but never once considered that she’d be pulling a sheet over Rebecca’s head when she dies due to complications from a simple appendectomy.

Jake isn’t as broken hearted as she expects a soulmate to be, she’s consoled enough wives and husbands in the same situation. Jake doesn’t cry, he just takes her hands, rubs his thumbs against her bare wrists, and smiles this small, sad smile.

She’s 17, and figures that maybe she has no soulmate because she’s destined to love many people in her life. First Callie. And now Jake is looking at her like she used to imagine her soulmate would look at her.

She figures it’s good enough, as long as the universe doesn’t object.

* * *

She’s only a few weeks shy of 18 when she marries Jake. He insists upon becoming Jake Griffin.

“I know in my heart that you’re the missing piece of me, not someone whose name showed up on my wrist,” he says, pressing her hand to his chest, “this is how I can prove that to everyone else.”

Her wrists are still bare, but Jake wears a watch that covers Rebecca’s name, and it’s almost like they’re the same.

But then four years later, she gives birth to Clarke. All of her pain and sorrow—the years of anxiety about not having a mark, her concern that maybe Jake just settled for her, the constant fear of being alone—fade when her tiny daughter is laid on her chest.

Clarke is perfect in every way, even when she cries and barfs and keeps Abby up later than a new doctor should be. She doesn’t mind, not really, and even through the frustrated haze of exhaustion she’s _elated_ to be a mother. Clarke becomes her whole world, where it doesn’t matter that Jake isn’t her soulmate, because together they made this amazing little being who has Abby’s mother’s chin and Jake’s father’s ears, whose first word is ‘ _mama_ ’ followed directly by ‘ _no_ ’. They laugh about how perfectly that sums their daughter up, and then Abby silently thanks the universe for giving her this when her unmarked wrists have always told her to hope for less.

Watching their daughter grow up is a kind of a miracle in and of itself. She’s seen birth and death and all the wonderful milestones in between, but the marvel Abby finds in her daughter is unparalleled to anything she’s seen in her years as a doctor. The joy she feels when Clarke says “I love you,” is unparalleled by anything she’s experienced before, not with Callie or with Jake, and she imagines that the universe conspired to give her this, not a romantic soulmate, but this child who completes her in every way.

And, frankly, Abby wouldn’t have it any other way.

* * *

Clarke is six when she realises something is different about her parents. No matter how hard they tried to shield her from the truth, they always knew Clarke would figure it out. She’s smart, and observant, and one day catches her mother’s naked wrists exposed at the same time while she folds laundry on the couch.

“Daddy isn’t your soulmate, mama?” Her little hands grab Abby’s wrists and hold them still so she can turn them over for inspection. Abby closes her eyes and bites her lip. Clarke’s just too young for this discussion, too young to know why her existence is viewed with raised brows.

But Jake, loving and patient and endlessly kind, closes his big hands over Clarke’s and Abby’s before sitting down next to Abby on the couch. Clarke takes it as an open invitation to scramble onto his lap and he laughs, patting her back gently.

“Listen, baby, most of us have our destinies picked out for us from the day we turn 14,” he gently undoes his watch and holds out his wrist for Clarke to see. The name Rebecca is still there, but it’s faded over the years, like all soulmarks do. “This was my soulmate, Rebecca.”

“Then why did you marry mama?” Clarke asks, her voice high and bright. Jake glances over at Abby and she smiles, despite the hollow pit opening in her chest again.

“Because I love her,” Jake says, simply, and Abby’s heart gives a little leap. “Rebecca died before I ever got the chance to really know her,” Jake shakes his head, rubbing Clarke’s back gently. “But I knew your mama, and even after I met Rebecca, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I knew I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life.”

“Can you even do that? Isn’t it against the rules?”

“I don’t think there are any rules in this, kiddo. Your mom doesn’t have a soulmark. We don’t know why,” he shrugs, Abby nods; it’s the truth. “So you see, I think maybe the universe figured out it made a mistake with your mama and me—”

“Can the universe _do_ that?” Clarke asks, her voice filled with awe.

“It must,” he shrugs, “because we managed to end up together, anyway.”

“And now, baby girl, we have _you_ ,” Abby adds, her voice tight with emotion as she leans heavily into Jake’s arm. Clarke turns around and makes a show of scrambling over onto Abby’s lap and pulling her into a hug.

“I’m glad you did,” Clarke says against Abby’s shoulder. Abby can’t help but laugh at that, squeezing Clarke close.

“Me too, Clarke. Me too.”

* * *

When Clarke turns 12 Abby tries not to obsess over how close 14 is getting. She braids her daughter’s hair, sends her to school, helps her with her homework because Jake is useless unless it’s schematics or math or soccer. When Clarke’s first round of aptitude tests come back showing an “extremely high” ranking for medicine, Abby is over the moon.

Clarke begins shadowing her mother at 13, sitting in during routine check ups and observing the simpler surgeries, the ones she thinks she can stomach. She sits up through a delivery one night and pats the new mother’s forehead dry while Abby swaddles the baby.

“We make a good team, mom,” Clarke says as they head home that night. Abby drapes her arm over Clarke’s shoulder and smiles.

They really do.

When Clarke’s wrists are bare on the morning of her 14th birthday, Abby’s heart sinks and that pit opens up in her chest. _It’s my fault,_ she thinks, and clutches her daughter’s hands guiltily. But Clarke doesn’t seem to care. It’s almost like she _expected it_.

“We’re destined to pick our own paths, mom,” Clarke says, her voice so much stronger and believable than Abby’s ever was. “That makes us important.”

And it does, in a way. At least, Abby can believe it when her 14 year old kid says it with such deep conviction. But, still, Abby carries the blame for Clarke’s unmarked wrists and her uncertain destiny, and wonders if she and Jake shouldn’t have played with fate.

There are more people Clarke’s age who don’t have soulmarks, so she escapes any kind of ridicule in school. Adults view the phenomena with concern, and council meetings chew over the topic until Abby grows weary.

“It’s unnatural.”

“Something must be _wrong_.”

“Does this herald the end of human civilisation?”

So much goddamn drama over change.

But then when Jake uncovers the catastrophic life support system failure, the council members point fingers before striving for solutions; they blame each other, blame overpopulation, blame the children without marks on their wrists. And then Thelonious reminds them that the past cannot be changed, and they must instead work together for the future.

They’re good words, with good meaning, but the future has never looked so bleak for the people of the Ark. Every option is more terrible than the last. An algae bloom would poison the water, disconnecting one station would damage the exterior of another station and cause overcrowding, a decrease in population would mean _killing people_ , and they are _not_ murderers.

Abby places her hopes in Earth, and wonders if the unmarked skin on the inside of her wrists has been pointing her to the ground her whole life.

She tells Thelonious of Jake’s plan to tell everyone, and Thelonious promises to talk to him, to talk him out of it. But then Jake is arrested while she’s at work and she’s brought to the airlock to say goodbye.

 _Goodbye_.

She gets her husband killed and then they lock away her daughter because Clarke, her entire life, has been too good and has always desired to do what was right. So much of what made Jake the good man he was got him killed, and so much of that ended up in Clarke, too. And now Clarke is being sent to Earth and Abby’s world loses its bearings. Jake is gone, Clarke is gone, and the Ark is failing, faster than Jake predicted.

But now it’s Abby’s turn to do something reckless.

* * *

23 years ago Abby and Callie found a junky old escape pod, probably salvaged from MIR-3, when they were sneaking around looking for a bit of privacy in the middle of the day. Subsection 3 is off limits, which is why it was so exciting to break in, snoop around, and then have sex as loud as they wanted to because no one could hear them.

Naturally, Abby forgot about the place, and the pod, when she married Jake.

But the memory comes roaring back to her when she’s trying to figure out exactly how to stop the council from culling 300 citizens of the Ark. She vaguely remembers the pod being fairly intact on the outside, but the inside was another story.

Whatever the state of the pod, she knows she’s going to need a mechanic. And when she pulls up the files for all of the mechanics on the Ark, one name sticks out _immediately_.

There’s no question that Raven Reyes is special. Abby can feel it in her bones. But what _kind_ of special...she’s not sure. The universe dragged them together for some great purpose, and Abby can only assume it’s to save the human race.

No big deal.

But it’s something else, something deeper that draws her to their makeshift launch bay every day, has her fold herself up on top of empty crates and watch this brilliant young woman pour every spare ounce of energy into fixing the pod. Sometimes they chat while Raven works, sometimes they just sit in silence and Abby tries to catch up on charting. It’s reminiscent of the nights she and Jake would stay up late together, never talking, just working separately in their own bubbles. It’s the sort of nice Abby thought she’d never get after Jake was floated.

It definitely makes it easy to push aside the constant, gnawing fear that chases Abby’s every other waking moment. Time with Raven is soft, quiet, restful, and she always feels a little hum of something good in her veins when she leaves Subsection 3. When the world inevitably presses in again, Abby feels a little more confident she can confront it, a little more sturdy. She remembers how Clarke always made her feel confident that the universe had something bigger in store for them. Raven reminds her that destiny is not tied to the name that is or isn’t on her wrist, and instead tied to something _more_.

Whether Raven knows it or not, she quickly becomes Abby’s solace. Her easy smiles, the way she tinkers with wires and mechanical parts like they’re a child’s building blocks, how she always crowds into Abby’s personal space to ask her a question or tell her a joke. Abby never realised how much she missed smiling until she realises that’s basically all she does with Raven. Her heart hasn’t felt this full since before...everything went bad.

She can’t even disguise the fact that her heart is broken when she forces Raven to leave her behind on the Ark.

* * *

Marcus Kane has no marks on his wrists. He wears them proudly, sleeves rolled up over his forearms for the whole council to see. Thelonious mentioned, back when Jake was still alive, that Marcus never once cared about his bare wrists, never once felt the need to explain or apologise for himself. They’ve never talked about it, though, but he was in Jake’s level, he must know about her.

He comes to her in Clarke’s cell, the next night after the 320 people gave up their lives, after the funeral that Abby could barely stomach to sit through, after she and Jaha spotted the flares arcing through Earth’s atmosphere. He offers no apologies as he settles onto the ground next to her bed, he offers nothing but his silence.

“What does it mean?” Abby asks after letting the silence hang. She swings her legs onto the side of the bunk, close to Kane, but not touching him.

“That we make mistakes,” he shrugs, his voice rough like he’s been drinking.

“No,” Abby says and sits forward, holds her wrists near his face, “what does _this_ mean?”

“Oh,” Kane sighs, “ _that_.” He brushes her hands away and reaches into a pocket on his pants, producing a flask that’s dented and scratched to hell. “It means we’re not meant for anyone, Abby,” he takes a sip and then offers it up to her.

“That can’t be true,” Abby says, waving away the flask. “I had—”

“Didn’t you ever think that if Jake had known Rebecca for more than a few months he would’ve fallen in love with her?” There’s no bite in Kane’s voice, just a raw sort of honesty that makes Abby’s skin crawl. “He chose you because her death gave him the opportunity to do so.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Yes, you do,” Kane says, taking a sip from his flask before offering it to Abby, again. “Otherwise you wouldn’t keep thinking about your goddamn unmarked wrists, you’d just act like all of the other widowed soulmates and move forward.”

Abby takes the flask and drinks deeply.

“Don’t you hate it?” Abby says, later, once the flask is half-empty and she’s joined Kane on the floor of her cell.

“No,” Kane says softly, leaning his head back against her bunk to look out of the skylight of the cell. “But I don’t think I was ever meant to be in love. Sex,” Kane shrugs, “sure. But love?” he shrugs, “not for me.”

Abby doesn’t understand it. Everyone grows up on the same stories; the Earth of old, the story of the first soulmark, and the happy romances of their parents. Abby’s never known that a different life could exist, one without love, and the thought leaves her feeling cold and hollow, something Kane’s decent moonshine doesn’t come close to touching.

“But what about…” she clears her throat and tilts her head back to look up like Kane. “I guess it seems kind of pointless now, huh?”

“It’s always seemed pointless to me,” Kane shrugs, “but you have Clarke, so what do I know. Maybe the universe has a plan for you and we just can’t see it.”

“Maybe,” Abby sighs, “is it so wrong to just want to believe that? To hope for something more?”

“Nah,” Kane shrugs, takes a swig of moonshine, “belief and hope are powerful things, Abby. It’s what got those kids onto the ground,” he points at her, “ _your_ belief in Raven is what got her to the ground in one piece.”

“No,” Abby says thickly, her heart giving a painful squeeze when she thinks about Raven, about her smiling face, about how they were supposed to go to the ground _together_ , “Raven got herself to the ground.”

“She would’ve never been in that pod if you hadn’t picked her, right?”

“Right,” Abby smiles and shakes her head. “I thought you said those were fool’s missions, anyway. That I was sending those kids to the ground to die.”

“They were, and you did,” Kane grins, twisting the cap back onto his flask, “but maybe we should all be a little more foolish like that, Abby. Maybe that’s how we’re supposed to survive this.”

* * *

Driving the Ark into the ground is the most foolish thing they can do. Abby is certain, as her station practically shakes apart on reentry, that the impact will kill them and she’ll die a fool.

But they don’t die.

And Earth is... _god_ Earth is beautiful. The sky is so much more blue than Abby imagined, and the trees are green and fragrant with coarser bark than their Earth Skills classes taught. She wants to bury her nose in the pine needles littering the forest floor, take off all her clothes and bathe in the lake near their crash site, run fast and far and long just to see how good fresh oxygen feels in her lungs.

For the first time in her life, Abby doesn’t think about her damn soulmark-less wrists. The universe brought her _here_ , and that’s bigger and better than anything marked on her skin.

The joy is short lived, because they have to find the kids, and she can’t even talk to Kane while they head towards the drop ship because the knowledge that she might be an hour, thirty minutes, ten seconds away from being reunited with her daughter is all she can think about.

When she enters the drop ship she counts two bodies. A boy covered in blood she doesn’t recognise, and _Raven_.

“Help...her,” the bloody boy says, eyes drifting over to Raven’s body.

“ _Raven_ ,” Abby breathes. She’s pale and sweaty, she looks _dead_ , and Abby’s fingers immediately feel for her pulse. It’s weak, thready, but there, and Abby sighs with relief. “Raven. Raven, honey? It’s Abby.” She touches Raven’s face, gently, mostly to reassure her that Raven’s really there. She’s cold and clammy and Abby can’t help but think she’s too far gone, but then Raven’s eyes flutter open and Abby gasps softly and smiles, dangerously close to crying.

“Clarke’s not here,” Raven says, weakly, blinking slowly. That pit that Abby is all too familiar with opens up again. At first, she can’t disguise the fear that rolls through her body, but then she composes herself, swallows the fear and sorrow down, and rubs her thumb against Raven’s cheek.

“What happened to you?”

Raven’s jaw clenches and she lifts her head just a little. Abby rests a hand on Raven’s thigh and rubs her gently. Raven looks back up at her and inhales. “I got shot…” Raven finally sighs, “I got shot.”

“Can we get a stretcher?” Abby calls over her shoulder, moving both her hands to cup Raven’s face again, just to feel her there. _She’s alive_. And it’s a miracle.

_But where is Clarke?_

“Hey, look,” Raven says in a whisper, weakly lifting her hand to touch the inside of Abby’s left wrist, “you finally got yours.”

“Wh—” Abby looks down at the smear of Raven’s blood on her skin. Beneath it, though, clear as day, is a mark.

A _name_.

“Raven—”

“Look,” Raven sighs, turning her hand over so Abby can see the inside of her wrist. Her name, in dark, prominent lines on Raven’s skin. _Abigail_. “I guess it _is_ you, then. I just assumed when I landed...” Raven trails off, her eyelids sliding closed.  

A million things run through Abby’s head as she touches Raven’s wrist, runs her thumb softly over _her_ name. Thoughts that had fluttered to the far corners of her mind come roaring back to the forefront; Raven always wearing those stupid gloves over her wrists, never claiming Finn’s name as being her soulmark, the way her eyes always softened a fraction when Abby would step close.

“Raven, I didn’t...you should’ve—”

“Doctor Griffin! We have the stretcher.”

“Later,” Raven says, her voice thin, her eyes still closed, “when I’m not so tired.”

* * *

“Do you hate me?” Abby says softly, settling down on the stool next to Raven’s bed.

“Why would I?” Raven asks, sounding stronger than yesterday. The colour has come back to her skin, sort of, and her forehead is warm and dry. All good signs that point to _healing_ , except her leg is still numb.

“Your leg…” Abby’s gaze travels down to leg in question and she lets out a sigh, trying to quell the wave of nausea washing over her. If only she had been _better_. “I should’ve...I could’ve—”

“It sucks,” Raven nods, reaching out and touching Abby’s chin so she looks up from Raven’s leg to her face, “but I’ll deal with it, Abby.” Raven looks so certain, so serious for someone so impossibly young. Abby nods, swallows thickly. “Can we talk about this, now?” Raven asks, dropping her hand down to where Abby’s are clasped at the side of the gurney. She presses her fingers to the inside of Abby’s left wrist and Abby’s eyelids flutter shut at the little ray of warmth that radiates through her body at the touch.

“I don’t know what to say about it, Raven,” she says carefully, opening her eyes to look at Raven’s curious expression. “Maybe it’s not—”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only Raven on the Ark,” she says with a weak chuckle, “so unless you’re trying to tell me that you think some _Grounder_ is your soulmate—”

“No,” Abby says quickly, shaking her head. She’s never been certain of anything, but she’s put faith in the universe for so much of her life it’s hard to ignore the way her whole body hums at the proximity of Raven. She reaches out and closes Raven’s hand in her own, brushing her fingers against the inside of the wrist where her name is written. “I just don’t know what it means.”

“It means that the universe figured out what we were meant for,” Raven says, shifting her hand forward until their wrists are touching, soulmark to soulmark. Abby gasps at the contact, at the warmth and pleasure that flows outwards from her wrist, and looks at Raven in awe. She recalls all of the couples she’s seen, walking hand in hand, their wrists pressed together. She thinks of Jake, of what Rebecca’s death deprived him of. And then she imagines a future, where she doesn’t have to carry around the feeling that she’s been left out of something amazing.

“Wow,” Abby breathes, gaze flickering between their joined wrists and Raven’s face. Raven grins.

“So this is what we’ve been missing, huh?” Raven huffs. “I _guess_ I get why all those saps would walk around with their wrists touching. It feels kinda...nice,” Raven says with a grin, and Abby chuckles, shaking her head. Even after major surgery Raven manages to be so... _her_.

Abby looks down at their joined arms, marvels at the warmth flowing through her body and realises, suddenly, how much she’s _missed_ Raven. So much pain and darkness has followed Abby these past years and the only time it ever felt just a little bit more manageable was when Raven was there, anchoring her in the storm. Raven pried open the windows in her heart and let in a bit of sunlight, let in the thinnest threads of hope. It’s ridiculous that it took crash landing on the Earth, a bullet in Raven’s spinal cord, and the appearance of Abby’s soulmark to work out how much Raven means to her, when _goddamn_ it’s so obvious.

“So,” Abby exhales, looking up at Raven’s face, “this is the beginning for us?”

“Yeah,” Raven bites her lip, rubbing her thumb gently against the inside of Abby’s arm. “The beginning.”

 _The universe doesn’t make mistakes_ , Abby thinks, and begins to hope again.

**Author's Note:**

> title of the story is taken from [unending love](http://allpoetry.com/Unending-Love) by rabindranath tagore.


End file.
